


Not So Different

by Aipilosse



Series: Fëanorian Week 2021 [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fourth Age, Gen, Halls of Mandos, Implied Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo, Implied/Referenced Suicide, References to Depression, accepting help is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-21 08:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30019311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aipilosse/pseuds/Aipilosse
Summary: Maedhros and the conversations he has after death.
Series: Fëanorian Week 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2208312
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	Not So Different

**Author's Note:**

> Maedhros - Nelyafinwë, Nelyo  
> Curufin - Curufinwë  
> Caranthir - Morifinwë  
> Fingon - Findekáno

After he was reduced to embers, Maedhros only knew darkness for a long time. Surrounded by the quiet dark, he drifted. Time was meaningless, and Maedhros did not know or care if he was in Mandos, the Void, or some other liminal space. After the relentless pain of the unfulfilled Oath that had tormented his mind, the gnawing pain of wounds partly healed that had ravaged his body, and the searing pain of the Silmaril, the absence of light and sound was peaceful. 

A day, an age, a lifetime passed. The utter blackness felt more solid, but still he could see nothing. So this was eternity? Or perhaps, this was the eternity between death and the Void, to be spent alone but for his memories. After the stunned nothingness, they were beginning to return, slowly creeping around the edges of his mind.

He remembered a brother’s shattered face, reeling from yet another loss, unable to believe that they had come to this. There were so many brothers, followers, and friends whose broken and bloody faces morphed from one to another in his mind, their dimmed eyes staring back at him unseeing. 

There were piles of dead to remember as well: so many bodies, wearing the clothes of Teleri sailors, the armor of the Iathrim, and wielding blades of Gondolin. The remembered screams rent the silence, their first and last war cries for their ships, their country, and their kings and queens ringing in his ears.

There was the memory of distant blue and silver banners, and the agony of a piece of his soul rent from his body. It was not his first mistake, nor was it his last, but it was the one that hurt the most.

There was memory of light: the Trees, the Silmaril, the fires of the earth.

Betrayal, wickedness, and failure were his legacy.

There was grief and guilt enough for an age or ten. 

Finally, even self-flagellation lost its appeal. There was no escape from the endless loop though, and the true meaning forever was slowly revealed.

“It is hard to think only old thoughts, and never new ones.” The woman’s voice was deep and held no mockery, only thoughtfulness.

It had been so long since he had heard a voice outside of memory, it took a long time for him to react. 

“I have no choice. I will never see something new again; what is there but old thoughts.”

“Do you regret it?” she asked.

“Yes. No. Parts.” He had thrown away his life once it was spent, but he still couldn’t completely discard every choice that led to that end. He turned, and realized he was not in complete blackness; he had only been standing very close to a black stone wall. He was in a dim stone cell, still utterly alone, but not actually in the utter blackness he had thought submerged him.

“It is difficult to think new thoughts here,” the woman’s voice spoke again. “But sometimes your perspective can shift.”

“Who are you?” Maedhros asked.

“Someone who loves you.”

“Still?” Bitterness rose again, like it did whenever he thought of all those who had misplaced their loyalty in him.

“Still,” the voice confirmed.

“I have more blood on my hands than many who are rightly abhorred.” He raised his hand; it still seemed stained red.

“You do,” replied the voice. “Would you try to make it right?”

“Truly, I was more an aid to Morgoth than his own Captains.”

“Indeed, you weakened and destroyed many who should have been your allies. Nonetheless, Morgoth was defeated.”

“And by my actions, Findekáno fell.”  _ If I am in Mandos, is he here too?  _ Maedhros thought for a moment before banishing the thought. He had been a weight to Fingon for all of his life — at least in death he could let him go his own way. 

“Is that your tale?” the voice said mildly. “That is not how I depicted it, but there is always more than one telling.”

Finally, the strangeness of his disrupted solitude broke through the misery he had wrapped around himself. “Who are you?” he ventured. “May we speak face to face?”

“We may, if you would open the door.”

“I cannot,” Maedhros said, looking at the thick cell door, bound with iron.

“Have you tried?”

He had not. But he must be jailed here; one such as himself could not be allowed freedom. He felt he must try though for the woman outside. The door did not appear to have any handle from inside, so he pushed against it. The door swung open.

The hall outside looked much the same as his cell, built of black stone, lit dimly, but the ceilings were higher, and along the walls hung many finely woven tapestries. Outside stood the woman with the deep voice. Her silver hair was bound back with a delicate chain of white metal. Intricate silver embroidery covered her deep blue gown. He had never met her, but her likeness had been present in every house he lived in as a child.

“Haruni.”

“Nelyafinwë.” Míriel held out her arms to him and he stepped into them. His form was incorporeal, more due to the difficulty of conceiving of the self without flesh and merely an echo of what he had been cloaked with shortly before he died, but he felt his grandmother’s warm presence wrap around him regardless. Something inside him shifted, and the sense of ages of loneliness intensified. 

“Why have you come for me?” he asked, after he felt ready to release his hold.

“You are my descendent, and I watched you for so long; is it any wonder I wish to see you?”

“But how is it permitted?” He knew little of Mandos. It’s existence was certain; after all, Morgoth had been chained there before he had been loosed in Aman, and he knew the fëar of elves dwelled there when their hröar was slain or they forsook their bodies — after all, the story of Míriel Þerindë was that of his own ancestor. He had never met anyone who returned from Mandos though and had privately held much doubt as to the veracity of re-embodiment.

“Silence and solitude is encouraged here,” Míriel said. “But sometimes spirits may meet and speak after a fashion.” She took his arm and began walking with him. “And I thought you might finally be at a point where you could hear me. I practice my art here and assist Lady Vairë in her endless labor, but even I get tired of always observing, never participating.” 

Maedhros registered that the tapestries they passed began to depict familiar scenes. The carnage that was always ready to play in his mind’s eye was here shown in thread. Sirion, Doriath — a pair of small dark haired heads, and a pair of silver. There was rage and fear in Elwing’s face mirrored back in her father’s face, and the Silmaril shining on with uncaring beauty.

Míriel swept him along. If he stopped to think, he might have been able to slip away and forget the habits of a body long enough to wander back to his cell and avoid what he was beginning to realize would be the unpleasant work of thinking new thoughts. But he didn’t slip away and instead allowed his grandmother to pull him past scenes of exile and death.

“Here we are,” she said, stopping in front of a tapestry that depicted him, Caranthir, Azaghâl, Bór, and Ulfang laying their plans. “Here is where you slew him whom you love?”

Maedhros frowned, feeling himself mocked. “Here I trusted where I should not, and so sealed the doom of Findekáno and many others.”

“A mistake is not murder,” Míriel said. “Or would you hold me responsible for every woe that has befallen the Noldor since my death?”

“That is not the same,” Maedhros said. “Surely grandfather bears some responsibility for his haste, and besides, what could you have done differently?”

“I chose to pour so much of myself into Fëanáro. I was also wrong that life would always be the unbearable burden I felt it to be after the birth.”

“But my father chose to swear the Oath, and I chose to swear with him — that was our own action and whatever choices you made does not absolve us of that.”

“I’m glad that’s how you see your actions. It took me many years to accept that.”

They walked further along, until they reached a depiction of Celegorm and Curufin, Curufin on the ground beneath Beren, and Celegorm fending off Huan, as Luthien drew herself up. 

“And here, what could you have done to stop this foolish evil?” Míriel asked. 

“I told them Himring would not be able to support all their people.” 

“Was that not true?”

“It was true.” He turned to his grandmother. “I understand you plainly — the only person I can control is myself, and taking on the burden of others’ sins will not undo them any more than my regret can undo past mistakes. But surely I have killed enough with my own blade to be justly condemned for eternity. If we pass but a bit farther we can see the Teleri I slew for their ships.”

“Eternity is very long,” Míriel replied. “I have found it much longer than I first expected.”

“But what about justice?”

“What is just about you sitting in the dark until the world is remade? Who is helped by that?”

Again, Maedhros had no answer. 

Míriel sighed. “I think I have planted some new thoughts in your mind. Perhaps that’s enough for now. I have duties to attend to. Until we meet again, Inyo.”

Suddenly, Maedhros was back in his cell. The door was ajar. 

~

Míriel came to him again. He did not know how long it had been, time was close to meaningless in Mandos, but he did not think it had been ages. Maedhros had remained in his cell, although the door was never locked. 

“Hello Inyo. How are your new thoughts?”

“Troubling,” Maedhros replied.

“Will you walk with me again?” Míriel asked.

Maedhros did not answer, but pushed open the door and stood beside her. He was surprised to find he felt joy at being in another’s presence. It felt strange.

They began to walk arm and arm again. Maedhros did not recognize the tapestries this time, although sometimes he saw the face of a Man who looked familiar. Míriel did not speak, but continued to guide him along at a leisurely pace. 

Finally he felt he must speak. “Haruni, last time we spoke you asked who is helped by my remaining here. But surely that is not how these things must be measured. Instead, I would ask who is harmed by my leaving? If that is the question, it seems that many people would be harmed.”

“Do you intend to leave and take up the sword again, slaying all until you obtain the Silmarils?”

“No, of course not. But I did not intend to do that last time either.”

“Ah, the Oath! Is it not fulfilled?”

“As I do not have a Silmaril with me now, I don’t see how it can be.”

“No one retains their worldly goods after death. Not even a Silmaril will come with you to Mandos.”

“But if I leave, I will be compelled to hunt them again.”

“Will you? The particles of your body cover a Silmaril still; it seems to me that is one way of having one.”

Maedhros frowned. “But the Silmaril with Eärendil —”

“Will be given to you as it is given to all who dwell in Arda.”

“And the one that Makalaurë had —” In the end, he had been too tormented by the Silmaril to know what his brother intended to do, but he could not imagine that it was able to remain with him.

“Your brother had it, and chose to relinquish it. Since at one point he had it, I would think the Oath would be fulfilled.”

“This is all very academic.” Maedhros felt frustration rising in him. The strangeness of emotions he had not felt for ages registered again. “I felt the pull of the Oath — it is not something that will be appeased by a proctor’s argument.”

“Have you tried?” Míriel asked. “Manwë and Varda were called as unwilling witnesses. Should not their interpretations hold sway?”

If Maedhros had a body, he would have sat down. As it happened, a black stone bench appeared, and he sat as much as a spirit could. Their suffering for the Oath had been profound; the idea that if the Powers had just shifted their interpretation it would have tormented them less felt obscene.

“You may have swayed too far on the matter of personal responsibility,” Míriel said, as if she read his thoughts. “Your own interpretation was the most powerful of all.”

“Ultimately, we swore to Ilúvatar. It is only Eru who can release us from our Oath.”

“That is true,” Míriel said. “Do you claim to know the mind of Ilúvatar?”

“We swore to be banished to the Everlasting Darkness if we did not succeed! And we would be present among the living again, with no Silmarils in our hands. It seems unjust that we should be able to do so.”

“Justice is very important, for that is an aspect of Manwë, whom Ilúvatar set as the chief of the Valar. But there is also grace.”

They sat in silence for a long while.

“I cannot accept what you have told me,” Maedhros said.

“You cannot yet accept it,” Míriel nodded. “Think on these things a while.” The lofty hall, tapestries, and the bench vanished, and Maedhros was in his cell once again.

~

Maedhros left of his own accord eventually. He felt his memories to be shaky things — a strange feeling for one of the Eldar. He walked in the direction he had first walked with Míriel, but found what he was looking for sooner than he expected. There, amid dark thread, were eight figures and eight swords drawn.  _ We did not fully understand what we did _ , Maedhros thought.

He continued to drift down the hall, no longer watching the walls. Eventually he realized that he had passed other souls, drifting in their solitude. The thought that perhaps his death was not so different from any other’s struck him. He was not certain how he felt about that. 

He left several times again after that, finding different scenes to test his memory against. Míriel appeared at his elbow as he gazed at a tapestry of Beren cutting the Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown.

“There are many versions of this scene throughout Mandos,” Míriel said. “It is a favorite of many of ours to weave.”

Maedhros realized something he felt he should have noticed earlier. Actually seeing the other insubstantial forms of the denizens of Mandos drove it home though.

“Haruni, are you living?”

Míriel smiled. “Yes, I am not a houseless spirit, although I am permitted to tread where many with hröar are not.” 

What entered Maedhros’ mind next felt terrible to say, but he felt he must know. “But you forsook your body. That always seemed to me a grave decision, and not one easily undone.”

“It was grave, and very sincere on my part. And it was not easily undone. Inyo, if I could give you but one piece of advice, it would be to avoid allowing your marriage to become a matter of religious debate.” Maedhros looked at Míriel closely, a spark of something like laughter lurked in her eyes and around her mouth. “If possible, keep it a matter between you and your spouse, and perhaps one other.”

“Your advice is sound, but I fear I went too far into secrecy with my own marriage. If I could make other choices, I would not hide my love.”

Now Míriel smiled in full. “Dwelling in regret does little good, but knowing where you would change your path can help, for you may walk down a very similar one later.” 

Maedhros was startled to realize he had been doing just that — anticipating a future where he would need to make choices again. It was a frightening thought.

“Haruni, when you chose to enter a hröa again, what allowed you to do so?”

“First, I needed to realize that it was a choice I had. I had long thought it was closed to me, for I had rejected it. But it is not so easy for us Children to reject the nature that Ilúvatar has given us. The Firstborn were not meant to dwell disembodied forever as removed as we can be from the circles of life.

“Next, I had to let go of my weariness. And we come again to matters of choice! Although I chose to pour much of my life into Fëanáro, I did not know what the consequences would be. It took much longer to realize that I need not live with a soul so imbalanced forever. I could be as I once was, whole, in a world of brightness and possibility again, and I did not deserve to live in listlessness forevermore. There was healing if I so desired” She spread her hands. “No one was helped by my brokenness and, if I agreed to it, I could still do much good.”

“And these same choices are mine, however surprising I find it.” These black walls were not good for thinking of new choices. His mind seemed to slide off them and turn again and again to the past.

“Great Doom was upon you Inyo. Yet, in the end you are still just one Elf. The world will not remake itself for you.”

“I will think on this,” Maedhros said, and drifted back to his cell. 

~

New thoughts were hard, so he tried to remember long buried memories.

There had been a time when he had still been full of the fire of life, when the hopelessness of their cause had not sunk in. The shadow of pain still dogged his steps, but victory had been possible and happiness found him occasionally when the first snowdrops bloomed amid the hills of Himring, or when he and his brothers defeated a company of enemy spies without any loss of their own, or some quiet mornings when nothing pressed upon him and he could just listen to the sound of Findekáno breathing.

He could be that Elf again.

“Even in your imaginings, you cannot bring yourself to imagine yourself before Morgoth sunk his claws into you?” Míriel was beside him again, her needle and thread moving swiftly through the cloth stretched over a wooden hoop.

“I think,” Maedhros said slowly. “That it is more a matter of being a different person after Angband. And realizing that that person was not always the monster I thought he was.”

“There were times after Angband that I looked on you and felt pride, Inyo.”

“If I were to leave, what should I do first? Where should I go?”

“That is for you to decide. Once you leave, your decisions will be your own and it will be up to you to forge a path that is different than the one you walked down before.”

“Maybe I could speak to my brothers about this,” Maedhros said, grasping for a reason to delay.

“They left long ago. If you wish to speak to them, you’ll have to leave as well.”

“There are many people with whom I must make amends.” Even if he limited the list to those he had slain himself, and did not include those killed upon orders he gave, it was a daunting idea.

“No one will time you, Nelyo. You needn’t leave and search first for the princess of fallen Doriath. In fact, that seems to me a most unwise idea.”

“Who could I go to?” Maedhros asked. The dizzying idea of finding any of his family in life again made the dark of Mandos feel more comforting than it had in a long time.

“Your mother has a place in the southern mountains. It is far from any city. Your brother Curufinwë dwells in Tirion and has room for guests. Morifinwë lives in a small village with his wife, and was just about to install stained glass windows. He would be glad for someone to lend a hand.”

“And where is Findekáno?” He could hardly believe he was asking after him and could not yet allow himself to imagine what he would do when he had the answer. But if he would go out into the world, he knew what he must do first.

“He lives with his sister, not too far from Nerdanel’s dwelling.” Míriel tied off the thread on the underside of the cloth with an almost imperceptible knot. “I know not what kind of greeting he will have for you, but there is only one way to find out.”

“So, how do I leave?”

“Is this what you wish? What I said earlier is still true; you have time enough and there is no need to hurry if you do not want to.”

“Yes, if it’s permitted.” Maedhros felt as much fear and excitement as was possible in Mandos course through him. “I think I have thought as many new thoughts as I can in the darkness here.”

“Then, I wish you every blessing. I will visit you sometime under the sun, and I will show you my works that have nothing to do with fate and history.”

~

The morning sunlight was soft and the birdsong was deafening. Maedhros drew a deep breath into his lungs; the air was fragrant with the smell of earth and growing things. He was overwhelmed. Before his death, it had been years since he had breathed air not tinged with sulphur and smoke, and many more years since he had been able to breath so deeply without any twinge of pain. 

He looked down at himself. He could see the ends of auburn hair, grey robes that reached the ground, and a single hand unburned.

He looked up, the beginnings of a dirt path were a few feet from him. He looked back. There were only trees, but he knew that Mandos was behind that screen. 

Maedhros began walking towards the dirt path, his decision made.

**Author's Note:**

> Haruni - (Qenya) Grandmother. Here assumed to also be the Quenya word for grandmother.  
> Inyo - (Quenya), Grandson  
> Fëar - (Quenya), Spirits, souls  
> Hröar - Quenya, Bodies


End file.
